Chapter Two · The Human Path Toward Awakening

then seeing the riverbed clearly is actually very hard, because the water is always moving. Information is moving. Emotion is moving. Desire is moving. Many people spend their whole lives seeing only the excuses, reasons, and disguises on the surface of the water, never once seeing the riverbed. Gradually I came to the conclusion that there are roughly three ways of seeing the stones at the bottom. The first is called lifting stones: recording traces each day and keeping a journal. The second is called diving: deep thinking and meditation. The third is called changing the riverbed: completely extinguishing the self one once was. For the overwhelming majority of people, I recommend only the first at the outset. Do not underestimate the human path. At its far end it meets the heavenly path by another road. It is simply this: lift stones. It is the slowest method, but also the safest and the one with the lowest cost. What does it mean to lift stones? It means you do not hurry to see through the entire river at once. You lift one stone. Today one. Tomorrow another. You lift it out, look at it, set it back down, look at it again, and record it. You are not trying to inspect every single stone in the whole river in one day. Nor are you trying to completely remake yourself today. What you are trying to build, little by little, is only one ability: to see what the water's surface looks like, and know roughly what is pressing underneath. That is the seed of what I call heavenly insight. It is not mystical, and still less is it fortune-telling. It is simply your unconscious eye growing more and more accurate at reading your own riverbed. So how does one lift stones? Later I found a very simple method for myself. Every day, when I was at my most tired, I would write. At the time I loved physical exercise. I worked out and ran every day, and my physical condition was very good. Later I discovered that the period after a run was especially suited to lifting stones. Once you finish running, the body is exhausted. Blood flow and oxygen are moving toward the limbs and the whole body. The mind, by contrast, is no longer spinning at its usual high speed. At such moments the river slows down. Not to a dead stop, but noticeably. And once the water slows, the surface grows calmer. When it is calmer, it becomes easier to see the bottom. So the method I later gave myself became: Run. Shower. Then write. How you write matters enormously. I once guided my own disciples in keeping journals, and they were mostly writing things like: today I was tired, today I was unhappy, today someone disappointed me, today I understood something. Such records carry very little weight. Those are only ripples on the surface. What we need to record are traces. Not a record of life. Not a record of feelings. Not a record of the story. But the lifting of one stone from the river each day. So how do you write without merely describing the surface? I suggest that every "trace note" follow this fixed order: First layer: the fact. Write only what happened. No explanations, no evaluation, no dramatization. For example: "Today he said I had changed." "Today I saw someone making money very quickly." "Today I meant to reply to a message, but then I did not." "Today I saw someone showing off, and it made me uncomfortable." The function of this first layer is to mark off the place where the stone lies. Many people start at once with theories, and that makes it too easy to cover the stone over. Second layer: the first reaction. Write the most direct feeling you had at the moment. Not the correct answer, but your first reaction. For example: "I wanted to argue back." "I felt sour." "I felt a bit afraid." "I suddenly wanted to prove myself." "I instantly wanted to run away." This layer matters because the first reaction is usually the one closest to the stone. Third layer: what do I want to get from this? This is where you look for craving. You must force yourself to answer one sentence: if I follow this momentum forward, what exactly am I trying to obtain? Notice: do not write grand words such as "dignity," "happiness," or "meaning." Write something concrete. For example: "I want him to admit I am not wrong." "I want to be stronger than that person." "I want other people to think more highly of me." "I want to preserve this relationship." "I want to secure this opportunity." "I want to confirm that I am not a failure." The moment you write this layer, craving usually emerges. Fourth layer: what am I afraid of? This layer is where you look for fear. And here too you cannot write empty abstractions. Write the ugliest, smallest, most direct fear. For example: "I am afraid of being looked down on." "I am afraid that I am not actually that capable." "I am afraid of losing him." "I am afraid that I chose wrong." "I am afraid that I will later realize I was very foolish." "I am afraid that I have in fact been lying to myself all along." This layer is crucial, because many people can write what they want, but cannot write what they fear. Yet what truly makes a person pull back is usually found here. Fifth layer: what reasons did I invent for myself? This is the most critical layer of all. This is where you look for the ripples on the surface. Ask yourself: in order to make myself feel a little more comfortable, what explanations did I create for this matter? For example: "I am not jealous, I am only analyzing things objectively." "I am not afraid, I am only waiting." "It is not that I do not want it, I am simply thinking farther ahead." "I am not angry, I only feel it is not worth it." "I am not trying to prove myself, I am only speaking a fair truth." What you are writing at this level is how you reconcile yourself to yourself. Many people stop journaling at the third layer, and so they never truly touch the stone. The real stone is often hidden behind the very reasons you are best at giving. Sixth layer: what is the stone I lifted out today? In the end, you are allowed only one final sentence: "The stone I lifted out today is: ____." Write only one main stone. Do not write an entire pile of wanting and fearing together. For example: "Today's main stone is: fear of being looked down on." "Today's main stone is: wanting to prove I am stronger." "Today's main stone is: fear of losing a relationship." "Today's main stone is: wanting certainty." "Today's main stone is: fear of admitting I was wrong." This step is indispensable, because it forces you down from a whole surface of water onto one stone. Why do so many people find diary-writing useless? Because they write only the first three layers: what happened, and what I felt. "Today I felt deeply wronged." This certainly has some value. But that only means you have seen the surface of the water. A person who truly learns to see himself will always add two more layers: what exactly do I want, and what exactly am I afraid of? And then add one more still: what explanation did I invent in order to protect myself? Only when you have written this far do you truly begin to touch the stone. And why must you look back? You had already intuited this earlier, and it is the sharpest point of all: when you lift a stone out, you do not do it for collection. You do it for comparison. Lift it up today and look at it. Put it back tomorrow and look again. Look once more after a week, and once again after a month. Then you will discover three things: First, the thing you once thought was enormous was later revealed not to be that stone at all. Second, when you thought you had seen yourself accurately, most of it was only self-reconciliation. Third, certain stones keep appearing again and again. That third point is the most important. If a stone returns repeatedly, then it is not an accidental mood. It is one of the large stones at the bottom of your river. So my suggestion is this: write every day, review once a week, and each month look only for the three stones that repeat. After a month, you will be shocked. Because you will discover that the life you thought was complicated is, in fact, being pushed around by only a few stones, over and over again. How does one learn human choice through journaling? This is the real point. Many people think that seeing the stone is enough. It is not. Seeing the stone is only the first step. True human choice begins when, the next time the same ripple appears, you know what stone lies underneath. For example, in the past, when you saw someone else succeed, a ripple would rise in you, and all you would know is that you felt bad. But after writing trace notes for ten days, you will realize: "Ah, this is not simply discomfort. Underneath it is the desire to prove I am stronger." Or again: "Ah, this is not rational hesitation. Underneath it is fear of paying the cost." At that point you begin, slowly, to acquire the qualifications for choosing. But as for how to choose, that will probably have to wait until after chapter thirty. Recently, ever since the release of the original first chapter, many people have been impatient to begin choosing, and that truly frightens me. They are willing to do groundwork, but unwilling to hear principles. They only want to copy answers and turn the vague into the certain. Here is a "trace note" template you can use directly. Write one page each day: 1. What was the one thing today that stirred the biggest ripple? 2. What was my first reaction at the time? 3. What did I actually want to get? 4. What was I actually afraid of? 5. What reason did I invent for myself? 6. What is the main stone I lifted out today? 7. If the same thing happens again tomorrow, how am I prepared to choose? The first six lines are about seeing the stone. Only the seventh begins to approach the simulation of human choice. Some people criticize